Column

Folks, as I write this, I’m sitting inside Dr Sethna’s clinic. You see I’m here to get myself ‘neutered’. Shocked, you ask yourself, “What does he mean by neutered?”

Well, let me tell you neutered is a time-honoured practice in which a male undergoes an operation to surrender his manhood. In Greece it goes by the name ‘snip’. In Nicaragua it goes by the word ‘ouch’ and in evolved England it goes by the phrase ‘bloody hell’.

Oh my God… in short it’s an exercise in which the Vas Deferens is cut. The Vas Deferens, of course, is either a Dutch rock band or a vein residing in the general area of the abdomen. Exposure to either by the way is equally painful.

In the old days — and by that I mean pre-1983 —men would opt for this operation for one of three basic reasons: a) They didn’t want to go to war. Having tried it a few times they found the whole thing overrated besides the timings were awful. b) Having erroneously got a glimpse of the wife to be, they’d sooner marry a boulder. c) They preferred it to attending a Falguni Pathak concert.

My case, however, is a little difficult. You see I spent the weekend at the Kingfisher Calendar Launch. The idea was to obviously achieve contact with Dr Vijay Mallya. This noble objective was achieved when he poked me in the chest and asked me to replenish his drink. However, that’s the last thing I remember as a bevy of beauties descended on me.

Mostly dressed in ribbons and nothing else (an exemplary example for those who want to take on the Delhi winter), Katya, Monikangana, Shruti and Nargish began to sashay this way and that. To be perfectly honest, it was a little less of this way and a lot more of that. It was like being in heaven, minus the cricket.

When I returned home to Mumbai, the wife asked me how was the weekend? Intoxicated with all that beauty, I told her the truth.

And that my friend is why I’m sitting inside Dr Sethna’s clinic… er… waiting to be neutered.